He had expected she would continue to deny what she was, and still he felt impatient. “Yes.”
“How do some old books prove what you are?”
“They do not,” he said. “They prove what we were.” He rested his hand on the topmost book. “No matter when they have lived, people have always kept accounts of what they know. They may lie to everyone around them, but most feel a need to tell the truth with their words. Sometimes in journals, like this one.” He picked up the first book. “This belonged to an English priest named Ennis of Aubury. He questioned nonbelievers, and wrote down what they confessed to him under torture.”
She drew back a little. “Why would you want to read something so awful as that?”
“For his truth.” He opened it to the page he had marked with a piece of cord. “Read.”
Jessa glanced at the page. “I’m sorry, I can’t. It’s not written in English.”
As natural as reading Latin was to him, he often forgot that most Americans could not read the root of their own language. “I will translate for you. Ennis writes: ‘Another peasant was found murdered in the fields. As the others before him, his throat was torn out but there was no blood in the wound. I questioned the outlaw heretic and he told me of the renegade and his companion, the ones who could not be killed. It is clear to me that the dark Kyn have infested the county.’ ”
She leaned over to examine the slanted, dense handwriting. “The ‘dark Kyn’?”
“That is what they were called in this time.” He turned to another page farther along in the book. “Here he writes: ‘This morning I will go into the forest. The smith’s wife swears she saw her dead son walking along the stream. I believe these creatures can take on the appearance of their victims so that they might lure more to their death. May the Heavenly Father help me bring this evil being into the light.’ ”
Jessa didn’t say anything, but she pressed her lips together, and her fingernails dug into the armrests beneath her hands.
“I think Ennis did find him.” He flipped through the rest of the pages to show her that they had been left blank before he closed the cover. “This is the oldest story I have found about them thus far.”
She stared at the page. “Them?”
“Those the monk called ‘the dark Kyn,’ ” he said carefully. “Creatures like us, who may have created us.”
Her expression immediately changed, became guarded. “You believe that we were created by evil beings?”
“This one Ennis speaks of could change his shape,” Matthias said. “So can some of our kind. There are more stories about them, how they came to be and why they were hunted.” He gestured toward the stack of books. “The dark Kyn were human once, and then they were killed or died of sickness. They came out of their graves changed, very strong and very fast. They hunted at night, and lived on human blood. They had great power—abilities—like us.”
She shook her head. “What you’re describing sounds like the myths about vampires.”
“They are never called that in these books,” he pointed out. “Sometimes the writers call them ‘maledicti’ or ‘the cursed ones.’ Rowan thinks the vampire stories began from tales of what they did during their wars.”
Her wide-eyed gaze shifted to his face. “There were vampire wars?”
“At least three, and one in which they fought one another.” He took out another book. “In this one a traveling French merchant returning from the East reported seeing terrible battles at night, in the countryside. He swore he saw men being slain and then rising up to fight again.” He could feel her disbelief now, as if it were filling up the space between them with bricks and mortar. “I do not lie to you, Jessa. The words are here. Written by the hand of those who lived in these times. The old ones like us have been living in hiding for centuries.”
“Of course they have. Vampires are supposed to be immortal.” She folded her hands under her chin and rested her elbows on her knees, staring at the books. “When I was a girl, I used to love to read stories about the Loch Ness monster, and UFOs, and Bigfoot. I think when we’re young we need that hope to hold on to. To think that there are still mysteries and wonders out there waiting for us to discover.”
She tried to be kind even when she was shutting him out. “You do not believe me.”
“I don’t believe in vampires, Matthias. I can’t.” She dropped her hands. “If they were real, and you and Rowan were like them, or were created by them, then why don’t you drink blood?”“We are not the same. We are still mostly human.” Frustration rose inside him. “You do not see.”
“I would have to meet one of these dark Kyn before I could put any faith in these accounts of them.” She sighed. “If they are still living among us, then they’re very good at hiding. Rather like the Loch Ness monster.”
She would never believe him now if he told her he had tracked some of them. “How do you explain what you can do with your touch?”
“I can’t do anything.” She exhaled slowly. “Do you think we’re going to turn into vampires? Is that why you and Rowan live underground? Why you brought me here? Are you afraid of the sunlight?”
“When you took my hand in the car, you saw me in the snow and the mountains. You saw the worst of me.” He offered her his hand. “Look again. I am not afraid of you seeing what is inside me.”
She didn’t move. “I think we should talk about how long you plan to keep me down here.” Before he could reply, she held up her hand. “Please don’t tell me that it’s for my safety. I can’t stay here forever, Matthias. I have to do something about GenHance. I have to go back—and take back my life.”
“What life do you have up there?” he demanded. “You live alone. You have no lover or friends. The only time you willingly touch someone is to look into the darkness in their soul. If it were not for me and my bringing you here, you would be dead now. Butchered by GenHance for the ability you keep saying you do not have.”
“You’ve tried very hard to convince me that you’re my friend, and that I’m safe here.” Jessa gestured toward the books. “This, and what you’re saying, they don’t make me feel safe, Matthias. They make me think you and Rowan are in trouble. That you need the kind of help that I can’t give you.”
He drew back. “You insult me now?”
“I didn’t intend to,” she said. “There’s really only one way to prove you’re right and I’m wrong. Show me everything you have. Tell me who the Kyndred are, where they’re living, and what you’ve been doing to protect them. Let me talk to some of them.”
For an instant he was tempted to seize her and shake some sense into her stubborn head. But perhaps he expected too much from her. “Rowan left the morning newspaper in your room,” he told her. “Read it.” He strode toward the door.
“What’s in the paper?”
He glanced back at her. “You are, Jessa. You are wanted by the authorities for killing Lawson.”
Chapter 13
The enhancements bestowed on Bradford Lawson by the transerum turned out to be even more spectacular than Kirchner had predicted. His injuries had healed almost instantaneously and completely, and his newfound strength seemed unlimited. Even his mind had been augmented, allowing him to think as fast as a computer and solve problems almost before they happened.
Only one minor problem had spoiled what should have been the ultimate state of perfection: He was starving.
Almost from the moment he had killed Ted Evans and left GenHance, a voracious hunger, unlike anything he’d ever felt, began to gnaw at his insides. Logic told him that his increased physical abilities would require more calories, but by the time he reached Jessa Bellamy’s apartment complex he felt as if he hadn’t eaten for a week. He’d ignored the grinding hollowness inside him as he snapped the neck of the complex security guard and went to her building, but after questioning and dismembering two of Bellamy’s neighbors he’d been unable to stop himself from seizing what food he could find in the second’s kitchen and eating until his jaw ached.
The hunger quieted enough for him to finish his interrogations and search Bellamy’s apartment, but once he’d gone back on the road it had started in on him again. Stopping at a convenience store, he strangled the clerk before loading up the passenger seat of Kirchner’s SUV with boxes of candy bars, racks of chips, and liter bottles of soda.
He hated eating all that sugar and junk as he drove out of the city—his new body deserved better—but if he didn’t meet the demands of his altered metabolism, he suspected it would start eating him from the inside out.
A pity Genaro’s transerum had such a serious flaw—one Jonah would have to address if he were to sell the stuff overseas. As soon as Lawson tracked down Bellamy and took care of that unfinished business, he would return to GenHance and have the old man do whatever it took to eliminate the unwanted painful side effect.
Fortunately his enhanced mental abilities were working with impressive efficiency. It had taken him only minutes to pick up Bellamy’s trail; she had left Atlanta and traveled east. He wasn’t entirely sure how he knew that she had; he only felt her drawing him to her. His sense of her remained bright and steady, as if she were a beacon only he could detect. There were others with her as well, at least two, but he felt only the vaguest sense of them. It didn’t matter to Lawson who had given her refuge; they would die just as quickly as all the others.
Then he would have her to himself.
Jessa Bellamy wouldn’t have to die right away, he decided, sorting through the many enjoyable fantasies about hurting women that he had dreamed up over the years. If her body proved to be even half as resilient as his own, he could keep her alive and hurt her for a very long time.